


five, six, seven, eight

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Catharsis, Cursed to Sing, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Musical, Mutual Pining, Podfic Available, Superbuddies to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 20:40:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11494335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: Everyone sings about their feelings, whether they want to or not. It's really fucking inconvenient, especially if you're Mikey, who's trying very hard to ignore them.Mississauga: The... Musical?





	five, six, seven, eight

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%
> 
> Thanks to tots, dexy, thealidoyle, and ftc for reading this, especially ftc, who managed to squeeze in beta work between three flights and for whom I am eternally grateful. Also thanks to my partner, who was skeptical when I first said this was a musical, but conceded that it made sense in the end. Special thanks to the numerous people on Tumblr who helped me figure out how to tag this. 
> 
> The rule is that if you're feeling too much to say it, sing it, and if you're feeling too much to sing it, dance. Technically that's meant to apply to musicals, but I like to think it applies to life. Or maybe I like to think life is a musical. In the words of our wonderful protagonist, "Yo what ev" 
> 
> Bonus stuff in the endnotes!

When it happens, Mikey’s at the Strome house, getting drunk and commiserating with Dylan about how much being in love with one of your best friends sucks. 

“I think I’d rather let Shea Weber take a slapshot at my face,” Mikey says. 

“Oof,” Dylan says. “That’s a good one. I’d rather… look up my name on, like, Twitter.” 

“That’s just masochism,” Mikey says. 

“I’d do it,” Dylan says. “If someone could guarantee that I wouldn’t have, like, feelings anymore, I so would.” 

“You’re, like, 95% feelings, man,” Mikey says. 

“Fuck off, I’m a normal percentage feelings,” Dylan says. 

“That sentence makes no fucking sense,” Mikey says, laughing. 

“It’s just that–” Dylan starts, and then he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I don’t want to keep–” 

He’s  _ singing _ . 

Mikey laughs even harder, because he assumes Dylan is making some weird joke, except Dylan is still singing, and he doesn’t seem to think it’s strange at all, and there’s– Mikey thinks he might actually hear accompaniment, which, what the fuck.  

It’s definitely happening, though, so Mikey just sits back and watches Dylan, like, perform a full fucking song about pining and jealousy and Mitch Marner’s eyes, and it’s nothing that drunk Dylan wouldn’t normally talk about, but the singing is kind of unprecedented. 

When the song finishes, Dylan looks at him and blinks, and Mikey just blinks back. 

“I… really didn’t mean to do that,” Dylan says, and Mikey isn’t really surprised at all. 

“Sure this is just beer?” he asks. 

“I don’t think it’s the alcohol,” Dylan says. “That was–” 

“Really fucking weird,” Mikey finishes. 

“Yep,” Dylan says. “I mean, also cathartic, but, yeah, weird.” 

“It wasn’t a terrible performance,” Mikey says. “You should consider giving up hockey and pursuing the music thing full-time.” 

“You should consider fucking off,” Dylan says. 

Mikey flips him off instead of responding. 

Dylan returns the gesture, then says, “Don’t tell Mitch.” 

Mikey rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’ duh.” 

* * *

The next morning, Mikey wakes up in the Strome house to the sound of a duet by the front door, and when he gets there, he sees Connor McDavid, singing to Dylan about, like, some extended metaphor about otters holding hands.

Maybe it’s just an Erie thing. The singing, or the constant drama, or whatever. 

“Good morning,” Mikey says as they finish up. 

“Hey McLeod,” Connor says. “Burst into song yet?” 

“No, should I?” Mikey asks. 

Connor shrugs. “It’s been happening to everyone. Usually when they get, uh, overwhelmed by feelings.” 

“Great, Stromer’s never gonna shut up,” Mikey says. 

“Fuck you,” Dylan says. “I’m not, like, especially prone to feelings.” 

“You kind of are, man,” Connor says, looking apologetic. 

“After all that,” Dylan says, throwing an arm over Connor’s shoulder. 

“It’s not a bad thing!” Connor says. 

“It is,” Mikey says. “I’m gonna go back to my place, go cry to McDavid about Marner.” 

“Good riddance,” Dylan says, and Mikey blows him a kiss on his way out. 

* * *

“Dude,” Nate says over the phone. “Have you heard that everyone’s singing?”

“Yeah, I’ve been hanging out with Stromer,” Mikey says. “I’ve heard so much fucking music about Marns.” 

“Yikes,” Nate says. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

“You been singing?”

“Oh, no,” Mikey says.

“Nothing?” Nate sounds surprised. 

“I mean–” Mikey shrugs, even though he knows Nate won’t see it. “Not much to sing about, right?” 

“Not even how much you miss me?” Nate says, his voice teasing. 

Mikey laughs, because he’s supposed to. “I’m seeing you tomorrow.” 

“That’s a whole 24 hours away,” Nate says, and Mikey can hear the pout in his voice. It sounds cute, and probably looks cute, too. 

“We can survive,” Mikey says. 

“Don’t wanna,” says Nate, and an impossibly fond smile creeps across Mikey’s face. He’s really glad Nate isn’t here to see it. 

As they hang up, Mikey hears a piano intro. 

The thing is, Mikey’s singing about shit that he doesn’t usually let himself touch, and it’s the fucking worst. The lyrics are all about  _ what if  _ and  _ I can’t  _ and  _ I want  _ and about the way he feels when Nate smiles at him, and that’s stuff he doesn’t fucking think about, as a rule. 

The song at least has the decency to be short. Mikey’s kind of humiliated anyway.

* * *

“Thought you guys would have a reunion song,” Dylan says.

Mikey shrugs. “Sorry?” 

“We don’t owe him an explanation,” Nate says, throwing an arm around Mikey. 

“What’ve you even sung about, Nater?” Dylan asks. 

Nate kind of blushes, which isn’t uncommon, but also isn’t super common. “A little diddy or two about my good friend Mikey, here.” 

“You didn’t tell me that,” Mikey says. 

Nate shrugs. “I dunno, if I was gonna sing about anything, it would be us, right?” 

“Mikey hasn’t sung about anyone,” Dylan says. “It’s ‘cause he doesn’t have feelings.” 

“Fuck you, just because I’m not a one-man musical, doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings.” 

“You seriously haven’t sung anything?” Nate asks.

“I told you I haven’t,” Mikey lies, and Nate looks disappointed, so he adds, “I’m sure if I did, it would be about you.”

If Nate suspects that he’s not telling the truth, he hides it well. “Thanks, man,” he says, and then he squeezes Mikey. 

Dylan gives the two of them a look. “Davo’s in town for a bit,” he says. “Four of us should hang tonight.” 

“Sure thing,” Mikey says. “It’s a good night for a performance.” 

“A Mitch Marner cabaret,” Nate says gleefully. 

Dylan rolls his eyes. “You two are the worst.” 

* * *

Mikey and Nate want to go to McDonald’s, but the restaurant is shut down by a staff-wide ensemble number. The drive-thru is still in service, though, so they end up eating burgers in the car.

“Wonder if anyone’s sung about these fries yet,” Nate says.

“I would,” Mikey says. “They’re so fucking good.” 

“Maybe the stakes are too low for a song?” Nate suggests, then he pops another fry in his mouth and shakes his head. “Nope, that can’t be it.” 

“Maybe if I try to sing to them, the– the spell, or whatever, the singing thingy will kick in,” Mikey says. 

“Don’t sing unless you gotta,” Nate says. “You sound like shit.” 

“Fuck off, I’m a decent singer,” Mikey says, which they both know isn’t true. 

“Nope, your voice sucks. That’s probably why you haven’t had a song, they don’t want to subject people to that.” 

“Harsh,” Mikey says. “If they can make Stromer sound decent, I’m sure I’d sound fucking awesome.” 

“So you really haven’t sung about anyone,” Nate says. 

“Yep,” Mikey says. “Like I told you literally two hours ago.”

“You could’ve been lying to Stromer, I dunno, trying to save face. Just– sorry to keep bringing it up, but it’s weird.”

“Firstly, in what world would  _ I  _ need to save face in front of Dylan Strome?” Mikey says. 

Nate snorts. “Fair enough.” 

“And– yeah, no, no songs yet,” Mikey says. 

“I just thought–” Nate says, and then shakes his head. “Whatever.” 

“No, what?” Mikey asks. 

“I dunno, I like, sang the entire car ride here,” Nate says. “It’s just– it just kind of feels–” 

“Uh,” Mikey says, and he feels something bubble up in him.  

“It’s fine if you–” Nate starts, but Mikey cuts him off with the first words of a song. 

It’s kind of terrifying, to be honest, because Mikey really doesn’t want to make some dramatic love confession right now, both because he’s really not fucking ready for that, and because they’re in a McDonald’s parking lot. Thankfully, the weird musical gods show some mercy, and all Mikey really tells Nate is that he doesn’t know who he would be without him, and doesn’t want to ever find out.

Which isn’t, like, a small confession, but it could be so much worse. He’s not telling Nate that he was willing to risk his entire NHL career to get them drafted to the same team, or that he cried for a week when Nate got a girlfriend, so, relatively, this is pretty tame.

Mikey’s face is still red at the end of it, and Nate’s is too. 

“Uh,” says Mikey. 

“Oh,” says Nate. “Um. Thanks?” 

“No problem,” Mikey says. There’s a chance he wants to curl up into a ball and melt into the car, a little bit, but whatever. 

“I mean– right back at you,” Nate says, giving Mikey a gentle punch. “Seriously.” 

“Sorry if it was–” 

“No, that was great, it was just– a lot,” Nate says. 

Mikey sort of prides himself on not being a lot, so he blushes harder. “It’s alright,” he says. “I just– you know.” 

“You sang about me,” Nate says, and Mikey’s not sure it’s exactly addressed to him. 

“Not sure why you sound so surprised,” Mikey says. “Told you it’d be about you.” 

“Yeah,” Nate says. Then, he turns and looks Mikey right in the eye and says, “I love you.” 

They say it all the fucking time, but it’s usually not so– so  _ this.  _ “I–” Mikey says, stuttering. “I’m gonna, uh, see if they’ll let me use the bathroom.” He turns around and runs out of the car before he can see the look on Nate’s face. 

They’re not singing anymore when Mikey ducks inside, and he splashes some water on his face before texting Dylan,  _ fuck feelings and fuck music.  _

_ you’re telling me,  _ Dylan texts back. 

Mikey sighs, locks his phone, and buys another thing of fries before going out to the car. 

Nate nods at him and gives him a small smile when he gets back, but they blast their “#superbuddies” playlist instead of talking the entire drive home, by some silent mutual agreement. Mikey knows it’s his fucking fault, that he made it weird, but he doesn’t really know how to make it right on his own, and he kind of wishes the song magic would kick in again. 

It doesn’t, though, so when they park in Mikey’s driveway, he turns off the music and says, “Hey.” 

Nate looks at him. “Yeah?” 

“I– I love you too, bud,” Mikey says. 

Nate looks a little disappointed, and Mikey can’t figure out why, but things stop being weird, at least, so Mikey starts to breathe again. 

* * *

They haven’t been home for ten minutes when Dylan bursts dramatically into the McLeod house, and from the song, Mikey and Nate gather that Mitch is apparently joining them tonight and Dylan is freaking out.

“I thought you were bothering Davo with this stuff,” Mikey says, once Dylan can speak normally again. 

“He had to take a phone call,” Dylan says. “Besides, he’s not good at feelings.” 

“I can guarantee you I’m worse,” Mikey says, and Nate tenses next to him. 

“It’s true, he is,” Nate says, sounding perfectly normal. 

“Alright, but– but what if I like… sing to him?” 

“Then you sing to him, what’s the big deal?” Mikey asks. 

“But what if I– you know,” Dylan says. 

Mikey wants to say,  _ if it didn’t happen to me, you’re probably fine,  _ but Nate’s literally right next to him, so he just says, “We’ll be there for you if something happens.” 

“I’ll escort him out of the room,” Nate says. “He’s a shrimp.” 

“He is,” Dylan says, and he manages to sound lovesick while he says it. Yuck. 

“So it’s gonna be the five of us?” Mikey asks. 

“Nope,” Dylan says, and he looks, like, despondent, or morose, or some other fancy word for  _ really fucking sad _ that Mikey only knows from English class. “Six. Marns is bringing Matthews.” 

Nate’s eyes widen. “We’re hanging out with Auston Matthews tonight?” Mikey thinks it’s a little ridiculous that Nate’s getting so starstruck about Matthews, but whatever, he’s accepted the fact that he’s jealous. 

“Marns thinks he’s  _ cute, _ ” Dylan moans. 

“Marner said he was cute once,” Mikey says. “That was a year ago.” 

“People don’t just get less cute,” Dylan says. 

“You’ve clearly never liked someone who can grow a playoff beard,” Nate says. 

“Or looked in the mirror during playoffs,” Mikey adds.

“Oof,” Nate adds, holding out a fist for Mikey to bump. “Sick burn.” 

“If you guys are just gonna be dicks, I’m getting Davo,” Dylan says. 

“You love us for our brutal honesty,” Mikey says. 

“It’s our best quality,” Nate adds. 

* * *

Mikey would bet his entire ELC that Auston Matthews is the kind of dude who gets progressively less chill once you get to know him, but Mikey doesn’t know him yet.

“Sup?” is the first word out of Auston’s mouth. 

“Hey,” Mikey says, because he’s not gonna be out-chilled in his own neighborhood. “I’m Mikey.” 

“I’m Nater,” Nate says, holding out a hand before Mikey gets a chance to. It’s probably not an obvious move to anyone besides Mikey. 

“Nice to meet you,” Auston says, shaking both their hands. “You guys know Willy’s younger brother, right?” 

“He was our liney,” Nate says, nodding as he throws an arm over Mikey’s shoulder. “Made this operation a tricycle, so to speak.” 

“Gotcha,” Auston says, which is a pretty subdued reaction, considering that what Nate just said was objectively super fucking weird. 

“Hey, Clouder,” Mitch says, walking up to them. “Hey Bastian.”

“Hey, Marns,” Nate says. “What brings you all the way to Mississauga?” 

“Stromer,” Mitch says simply. 

“He’s not worth it,” Mikey says. “Trust me.” 

Mitch smiles at that, then looks over his shoulder at where Dylan and Connor are currently turning on the XBox. “Yeah, well,” he says, and– wow, Mikey is never listening to Dylan complain about unrequited love ever again. 

They end up playing CoD and drinking beer, except there are only four controllers, so Mikey and Auston sit out the first round. 

“Why’d you let Marns drag you here?” Mikey asks. 

Auston shrugs. “I dunno, I don’t have much else to do, and I’m going back to Arizona in a couple days. Apparently I’m supposed to be telling Strome all about the desert, or something.” 

“Are you now,” Mikey says, raising an eyebrow. 

“Nah, I think I’m supposed to like, distracting McDavid?” Auston says. “The plan kept changing, I don’t know. General wingman shit.” 

“What, you’re trying to get Marns alone with–”

“Strome,” Auston confirms. “He wrote up a ten-step plan and everything.” 

“That’s so fucking dumb,” Mikey says. 

“Why?” Auston asks. 

“If he wants to talk to Dyls, all he’s gotta do is ask,” Mikey says. “He’d probably kick us all out.” 

“Then we’d miss the show,” Auston points out. 

“Has Marns been singing about him?” Mikey asks. 

“Four times that I’ve seen,” Auston says. “It’s a lot.” 

“If it helps, Dylan hasn’t been any better,” Mikey says. 

“What about you?” Auston asks. 

Mikey shrugs. “A couple of songs, just– you know. Normal stuff.” 

The game pauses as Mitch taps out and walks over to where they’re standing. “Hey, did one of you wanna sub in?” he asks. 

“Maybe in a bit,” Mikey says. 

“Cool,” Mitch says, nodding. “So, man, how’s your summer been?” 

Mikey shrugs. “Just been around here a lot. Not much else besides training.” 

“Just, hanging here? With Dyls?” Mitch is trying and failing at faux casual, and Mikey’s more than willing to play along, but Auston, apparently, is not. 

“Jeez,” he says, rolling his eyes. 

Mitch turns the brightest fucking shade of red that Mikey’s ever seen. “I’m just asking–” 

“Mitch wants to know if Strome is single, oh my god,” Auston says. 

“I was trying to be subtle,” Mitch says. 

“You weren’t succeeding,” Auston says. 

“Gotta agree with Matthews. You should talk to him,” Mikey says. 

“Easy for you two to say,” Mitch says. “This shit is fucking hard for us single losers.” 

“I’m single too,” Mikey says. 

Mitch and Auston turn to stare at him. “What,” Mitch says. 

“I’m… not dating anyone?” Mikey says. 

“So you and–” Auston nods in Nate’s direction. 

Mikey feels his face go hot. “It’s not like that,” he says. “I don’t think– he’s not–”

“You guys– no, fuck this,” Mitch says, disbelieving, before he turns and yells, “Stromer, can you c’mere for a second?” 

“Sure,” Dylan says, pausing the game remarkably fast and walking over to meet them. “What’s up?” 

“Is McLeod seriously not with Bastian?” Mitch asks in a harsh whisper. 

“Uh,” Dylan says, then looks at Mikey, who probably looks really fucking confused. “No?” 

“Dude,” Mitch says. “What the fuck, they both–” 

“Can we not have this conversation?” Mikey says, because Nater’s right across the room, for fuck’s sake. 

“No. Dude, he’s seriously into you. You guys gotta talk about this,” Mitch says. “You guys can’t drag this shit out–” 

“Where are you getting this from, even?” Mikey says. 

“I, uh, might’ve mentioned something to Marns a few months back,” Dylan says, which,  _ what _ . “I’m so sorry–”

“What the fuck,” Mikey says, and he’s fucking  _ furious.  _ “Dude, that’s so–” 

“Stromer thinks you should talk to him,” Mitch says. 

“Do you, now?” Mikey asks, and he means to just say it, but it comes out of his mouth, and– 

It’s a fucking song, of course. 

A scream-fighting song with Dylan should’ve been inevitable, in hindsight; Mikey spends way too much time with him, and he’s dramatic, and a fucking dick, and Mikey’s still harboring some residual OHL championship bitterness. 

Dylan has plenty of excuses, but Mikey’s not really in the mood to hear them, because that’s just– that’s not okay. Dylan might broadcast his feelings like they’re public fucking information, but Dylan isn’t Mikey, and fuck, he’s gotta get out of here.

“Fuck you,” Mikey says, as soon as he can fucking talk again, and storms out, feeling dumb as he slams the Strome’s front door behind him. 

Nate runs after him, because of course he does, and Mikey stops as soon as he realizes it’s him. “Hey,” he says. “I didn’t hear what you guys were talking about, but–” 

“It’s nothing,” Mikey says, and he can’t look at Nate right now. “Dylan’s a dick.” 

“That much I gathered,” Nate says. Mikey sits down on the front lawn, and Nate sits beside him, rubbing his back as Mikey buries his face in his knees. “Want me to kill him?” 

“I don’t want to think about it,” Mikey says. 

The front door opens again, and Mikey doesn’t look up.

“Hey,” Mitch’s voice says. “I’m so sorry, that was way out of–” 

“It was, but whatever,” Mikey says. “You didn’t know that– whatever.” 

“I really shouldn’t’ve assumed,” Mitch says. “It was a shit move. Just–”

“It’s fine, really,” Mikey says. “It’s him I’m mad at, promise.”

“Alright,” Mitch says. “I’ll, uh, check in later?” 

That’s probably a good idea, but Mikey isn’t going to tell him that. 

“Don’t worry,” Nate says. “I’ve got him.” 

There’s a pause, and Mitch says, “Alright.” A few seconds later, Mikey hears the front door close. 

“You don’t– it’s fine if you want to talk, but you don’t have to,” Nate says. 

Mikey nods, and sits on the Strome lawn for the next half hour, Nate at his side. 

* * *

Nate’s been asleep for hours, but Mikey is wide awake, because of course he can’t fucking sleep, so he texts Dylan.

_ You still up?  _ is all he says. 

Dylan replies with  _ Yes whats up  _ alarmingly fast. 

_ Lets meet up,  _ Mikey writes, and that gets him a thumbs up. 

Dylan’s wearing an Otters hoodie and pajama pants as he walks up to where Mikey is sitting on the porch. “Hey,” he says. “I’m sorry–” 

“I know,” Mikey says, sighing. “Here, sit.” 

Dylan takes a place beside him tentatively. “What’s keeping you up?” 

“I’m still kinda pissed,” Mikey says. “I mean, I forgive you, but– it’s embarrassing, you know?” 

“I guess,” Dylan says. 

“It’s– fuck,” Mikey rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “He’s in my  _ bed.  _ It feels– like, it shouldn’t be hard, right? We’re so– we’re on the same page, usually, and like, no one gets it.”

“I understand,” Dylan says, nodding sympathetically.

Mikey shakes his head. “I don’t think you do. No offense, but– people expect you and Mitch to be all…” Mikey waves his hand. “All over the place, I guess.” 

“Hey,” Dylan says, but Mikey can hear how halfhearted the protest is. 

“I mean, shit’s complicated. You play on different teams, and in different fucking countries,” Mikey says. “Nate’s my fucking liney, and we don’t even have to split up for the show, y’know? It should be, like, really fucking easy.” 

Dylan snorts at that. “Dude, I know you think I’m all, like, whatever, when it comes to feelings and shit–” 

“Dramatic,” Mikey says. 

“In touch with my emotions,” Dylan says, and Mikey rolls his eyes. “Right. But, like, I don’t think it’s ever easy.” 

“Not for you–” 

“Not for anyone,” Dylan says. “Seriously. And, for the record, I can think of, like, a ton of reasons shit wouldn’t be easy with Nater.” 

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Mikey says.

“No, don’t get me wrong, you guys would be really good together,” Dylan says. “Just, you can’t expect these things to just… happen. Liking people is really fucking scary.” 

“No shit,” Mikey says, and then he looks at Dylan’s face. He’s looking across the street at his house, and Mikey would be willing to bet that he’s staring in the direction of whatever room Mitch is staying in. “You really think we’d be good together?” 

“Yeah,” Dylan says, like it should be obvious. “Have I never told you that?”

Mikey shakes his head. “Not really.” 

“Well you would be. And– you should talk to him,” Dylan says. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that before, I guess.” 

“You told Marner, though,” Mikey says. 

“I didn’t just like, spit it out,” Dylan says. “I swore him to secrecy, promise. I kinda yelled at him, for what it’s worth.” 

“He was really fucking sorry,” Mikey says. 

“I know, trust me. I think people usually, like, appreciate it when he does shit like that,” Dylan says. 

“Dude has weird friends,” Mikey says. “I, uh, probably wouldn’t’ve been as mad if– it’s just been a hard day, I guess.” 

“Because he’s here?” Dylan asks. 

Mikey nods. “And because– I don’t fuckin’ know,” he says. “There’s just been a lot of… feelings-sharing lately.” 

“I know,” Dylan says. “It’s kinda for the best, though, right?” 

“What the fuck, no,” Mikey says. “It fucking sucks. No one can stop fucking singing, and I’m so fucking afraid that I’m just gonna, like, confess.” 

“Yeah, but at least you’re, like, talking through shit.” 

“I hate talking through shit,” Mikey says. “And I  _ really  _ hate singing through shit.” 

“Fuck off, talking through shit is great. It’s like whining, but afterwards, things actually change,” Dylan says. 

“I don’t want things to change,” Mikey says, and he feels young, all of a sudden. There’s already so much fucking change, and he doesn’t want to be fucking things up with his best friend, or, like, either of his best friends.

“I can’t say I agree,” Dylan says. Mikey’s a little offended, before Dylan continues, “Things will change on their own, y’know? Being left behind is really fucking awful.” 

Which– oh. 

“It’ll be weird being in Jersey,” Mikey says. 

Mikey’s expecting Dylan to say something about how lucky he’ll be to have Nate, but instead, Dylan just says, “You have so fucking much to look forward to.”. 

There’s music playing, but when Mikey opens his mouth to speak, normal words come out, plain and spoken. “You’re a really fucking good friend,” he says. 

“You too,” Dylan says, and he does a kind of half-hug, leaving his arm over Mikey’s shoulder. 

They stay like that, quiet and warm and together, and it’s late, and there’s a really nice breeze, and before he knows it, Mikey’s being woken up. 

“Hey,” Dylan says. “You should go inside.”

“You should go inside,” Mikey says groggily, like it’s a comeback, even though Dylan’s right. 

“I should,” Dylan agrees. “I have three fucking houseguests.” 

“Everyone is staying over?” Mikey asks. 

“Yeah, I think– Mitch wanted to follow up, I guess? Make sure he didn’t ruin shit.” 

Mikey snorts. “I’m sorry, but that’s a fucking excuse.” 

“What?” Dylan says. 

“He just wanted to stay over,” Mikey says. “Seriously. Is he staying in your room?” 

“Maybe,” Dylan says. 

“He’s not even being subtle, man,” Mikey says. “Really.”

“Davo needed his own bed, and Matthews volunteered to take the couch,” Dylan protests. 

“You’re an idiot,” Mikey says fondly. “He likes you.” 

“You think?” Dylan asks, like it’s a genuine question, and Mikey wonders if it’s a Dylan thing, or if everyone is this oblivious, or stubborn, or whatever it is. 

“Yes,” Mikey says. “I’m gonna go inside.” 

“Night,” Dylan says, standing up at the same time as Mikey. 

“Night,” Mikey says. “Call me when Mitch professes his undying love for you.” 

“Fuck you,” Dylan says, flipping him off as he walks away, but he smiles over his shoulder, and then kind of trips over his own feet. 

Mikey laughs very genuinely, then goes inside. 

* * *

The first time Mikey wakes up the next morning, it’s 7am, and Connor McDavid is trying to FaceTime with him. He groggily accepts as Nate shifts next to him.

“What do you want?” Mikey says, climbing out of bed to go into his bathroom as Connor’s face fills the screen. 

“Dude, it’s happening,” Connor says, and then he flips his camera and, yep, that’s definitely music, some sappy love duet, and Dylan and Mitch are facing each other, singing and holding hands _ ,  _ and it’s the cheesiest shit Mikey’s ever seen in his life. 

“Oh my  _ god, _ ” Mikey says. “Who said it first?” 

“It was simultaneous,” Connor says. 

“This is incredible,” Mikey says, and Mitch and Dylan are practically singing into each other’s mouths, and then there’s a dance break. 

“Figured you’d want to be conferenced in,” Connor says. “Matthews is filming this all, don’t worry.” 

“Good,” Mikey says. “Send it to everyone you know.” 

“I’m gonna post it,” Auston says from offscreen. 

“Their love will go viral,” Mikey says. 

“They’ll love that,” Connor says. “Fuck, I’m so happy for them.” 

Mikey nods, and he hears Auston hum in agreement. 

After the song is over and Mikey says a quick “I told you so” to Dylan, he realizes it’s still way too early to be awake, so he climbs back into bed, careful not to wake a still-sleeping Nate. 

* * *

The next time he wakes up, Nate is looking down at him.

“Shit,” Nate says, his eyes going wide. “Did you hear that?” 

Mikey furrows his brow and shakes his head, still a little too sleepy for words. 

Nate looks relieved. “Oh, alright,” he says, and he starts to move away, but Mikey grabs his arm. 

“What happened?” Mikey asks. 

“I just– it was nothing,” Nate says. “Never mind. Go back to bed.” 

“I’m awake,” Mikey says, which is almost true. He’s definitely not going to fall back asleep, at least. 

“Okay, then, uh, stay awake,” Nate says. “Was– did you go somewhere, last night? I woke up and you were gone, and the light in the bathroom wasn’t on.” 

“Oh,” Mikey says. “Yeah, I patched things up with Dyls.” 

“You did, good,” Nate says. “Do you wanna talk about it now?” 

“I mean– he told Marns something he shouldn’t have, and then I sort of blew up at him, and then the whole thing blew over,” Mikey says. 

“What did he tell him?” Nate asks. 

“Uh,” Mikey says, “it’s sort of– it’s not– I don’t really–” 

“It’s something I don’t know,” Nate says, and he sounds taken aback. 

“It’s just–it’s not a big thing–”

“It is a big thing, if you got mad– it’s fine, it’s your business. It’d be, like, such a dick move to be mad,” Nate says. “You don’t have to tell me shit. I’m not entitled to–” 

“It’s not– it’s just– Nate,” Mikey says, desperate, even though he’s not sure what he’s asking for. Maybe it’s for Nate to stop looking so fucking betrayed. 

“Really, it’s fine, I’m just, like, gonna take a shower,” Nate says. “It’s cool, man, I promise.” 

He doesn’t sound sure at all, and Mikey doesn’t believe him. 

Once he hears the water running, he ducks into the hallway and calls Dylan. He expects it to go straight to voicemail, because Dylan’s probably fucking the day away with Mitch, but he picks up. 

“Hey,” Dylan says, sounding breathless. “Is everything alright?” 

“I– dude, did you stop in the middle of sex to pick up the phone?” Mikey asks. 

“No, all clothes are on,” Dylan says. “Promise.” 

“But Mitch is there?” Mikey asks. “And you two were– actually, I’m not gonna ask.”

“That’s… probably for the best. Um, I can kick him out, if you want,” Dylan says. 

“I’m still really sorry,” Mikey hears Mitch yell. “I”ll leave if–” 

“I really don’t fucking care. Just– Nate’s acting weird.” 

“He’s a weird guy,” Dylan says, which is not what Mikey meant. 

“I think he figured out I have, like, feelings, and he’s not sure how to let me down,” Mikey says, figuring the best course of action is cutting right to the chase. 

“He definitely didn’t, you’re fine,” Dylan says. “Or, like, if he did, then, whatever.” 

“He knows you know something he doesn’t, and he probably–” 

“Stop speculating,” Dylan says. “Fucking ask him, alright? He’s probably just jealous.” 

“Why would he be jealous?” Mikey says. 

If Dylan hears the jab, he ignores it. “Because he’s obsessed with you, alright? Not even saying, like, romantically. He’s just– you’re a pair, y’know? He’s always been kind of… territorial.” 

“He is not,” Mikey says. 

“He is with you, alright?” Dylan says. “It’s, like, a thing. Ask anyone” 

“Fine. Hey, Marner,” Mikey asks. “Is Stromer bullshitting me?” 

There’s some rustling on the other end, and then Mitch’s voice. “It’s kinda true,” Mitch says. “Had to explain it to Matts after shit went down last night.” 

“Explain what?” Mikey asks. 

“Like, Bastian sort of– grabs you?” Mitch says. “It’s hard to explain. He just sort of– makes it clear that you guys are kind of a package deal. It’s kind of why we, uh, assumed–” 

“You’re just– that’s just– that’s not being territorial,” Mikey says. “It’s just… I dunno, a thing.” 

“I’m just saying, that’s how it comes across,” Mitch says. “And– I think Stromer’s right, about the jealous thing.” 

“Whatever,” Mikey says. He sighs and leans back against  the wall. “That’s– alright, thank you guys, go back to boning.”

“Our clothing is  _ on, _ ” Dylan says, and Mikey assumes he’s grabbed the phone out of Mitch’s hand “But, yeah, just–” 

“Alright, alright,” Mikey says, and he hears the water turn off. “I gotta head out. Congratulations, again.”

“Thank you,” they say in unison, and then, “Jinx!” from Marner. 

“Bye,” Mikey says, and then hangs up. 

He ducks back into his room as Nate steps out of the bathroom. There’s a towel on his hips and his hair is wet, and he looks really fucking good. 

Mikey might be staring a little bit. 

“Have a good shower?” Mikey asks, which is a really fucking bad question to ask if he’s trying to make things less weird. 

“McLeod water pressure lives up to its usual standards,” Nate says, and Mikey pretends to busy himself looking in some other direction as Nate starts to get dressed. 

“So, listen,” Mikey says, his back to Nate. “If you’re upset–” 

“I told you, I’m not,” Nate says. “It was just– it’s been a weird morning.” 

“It’s been a weird–” Mikey starts, and then he cuts himself off.

“Yeah,” Nate says. “We should get coffee.” 

“Good call,” Mikey says. 

* * *

Nate isn’t touching Mikey.

They make coffee and breakfast and sit at the table, and Nate doesn’t respond when Mikey kicks him under the table, his legs sitting still as his feet remain firmly planted on the ground.

They drive to the gym together, and neither of them sings along when “Story Of My Life” finds its way onto the radio, and Mikey has to bite his lip to stay silent while Nate looks out the window or at his phone or in any direction but Mikey’s. 

They drive home and Mikey’s gonna suggest they go for a swim, but decides against it, and Nate sits down on Mikey’s couch and grabs the remote. 

Mikey sits down right next to him, and Nate isn’t even subtle about moving over. 

“Dude, what the fuck,” Mikey says. “What is with you today?” 

Nate shrugs. “Guess it’s just a weird day.” 

“Yeah, because you’re making it weird,” Mikey says. “What the fuck is your problem?” 

“I don’t have a problem,” Nate says coolly, and Mikey’s never heard him use that tone of voice before. He really doesn’t like it. 

“You clearly fucking do,” Mikey says. 

“Sorry, maybe you should go ask Strome about it,” Nate says. 

“I– what?” Mikey asks. “What are you trying to say?” 

“Oh, come on,” Nate says. “You and him sing some fucking duet about secrets and trust and then have some– some secret fucking midnight rendezvous to work out your issues, and– you know.” 

“So you’re mad that someone knows one thing about me that you don’t?” Mikey says. “I’m allowed to have other fucking friends–” 

“It’s not about friendship, it’s about– whatever’s going on between you and Strome, and like, I’m fine, but the fact that you didn’t fucking tell me–” 

“Wait,” Mikey says. “What the fuck, there’s nothing going on between me and Dylan, what the  _ fuck. _ ” 

“Really?” Nate snaps. “You get all jumpy when Marner’s in town, talk to his new boyfriend, probably figure out that Marner’s off the market, then make your move–” 

“I have no fucking idea what you’re even  _ talking  _ about,” Mikey says. “Dylan Strome and Mitch fucking Marner are probably looking lovingly into each other’s eyes and sucking each other’s dicks right this fucking second.” 

“What?” Nathan asks, and he looks genuinely surprised. 

“Yeah, do you wanna see their fucking love song?” Mikey asks. “There’s a video.” 

“They’re– so you’re not– are you, like, upset?” 

“Of fucking course not,” Mikey says. “Dylan’s one of my best fucking friends and I’m really fucking happy for him, except I can’t actually  _ be _ happy, because you’re acting like you can’t stand to be within ten feet of me.” 

“I just thought– I don’t know,” Nate says. “I just– what else would you tell Strome that you couldn’t tell me?” 

Mikey wants to explode, but he doesn’t want to do it in front of Nate, because this whole thing is way too fucking confusing. 

“I told you, it’s not a big deal,” Mikey says. “I just– I need some air.” 

“Okay,” Nate says, and he sounds about as lost as Mikey feels. 

Mikey wants to say something, but he can’t think of any words, and he has a sneaking suspicion that if he opens his mouth, it’ll turn into a song, so he just walks wordlessly into his backyard. 

* * *

He goes to the shed so he can scream without bothering the neighbors, but ends up going full-on Kevin Bacon.

Mikey cannot fucking wait until this musical shit is over. 

* * *

When he gets back to the house, Nate is asleep on the couch. Mikey can see something on his cheeks, and when he looks closer, he realizes that Nate’s been crying, which makes him feel like crap.

As gently as he can, he lifts Nate’s head and puts it on his lap, running his fingers through Nate’s hair and trying to take deep, deep breaths. 

He doesn’t text Dylan, because he can’t get to his phone, and because he doesn’t even know what just fucking happened. It doesn’t make sense. Neither of them wants to be upset, but both of them are, and Nate’s too fucking important for things to be this fucked up. 

Because this is Mikey’s life now, a single tear honest to fucking god falls from his eyes onto Nate’s cheek as he hums a few bars that sound kind of familiar, but he can’t place them. It’s some Disney-level bullshit, but Mikey just accepts it. 

Then, Nate wakes up. 

“Shit, sorry–” Mikey says, quickly removing his hand from Nate’s hair to wipe his eye. 

“I– it’s all good,” Nate says, rubbing at his own face. Neither of them acknowledges the crying, which Mikey is honestly fine with. 

“Wanna watch?” Mikey asks, gesturing toward the TV. 

Nate nods, and Mikey hands him the remote. 

They’re still sitting far apart as Nate scrolls through Netflix, and when Mikey hesitantly puts his feet near Nate’s lap, Nate flinches. 

“I’m sorry,” Nate says. “I–”

“Should we talk about this?” Mikey asks, feeling like he might throw up. 

Nate nods, and he looks so fucking reluctant, but they both seem to know that they don’t really have any other choice. 

“It’s my fault, I think,” Mikey says quietly. 

Nate shakes his head. “No, it’s mine. It’s just– you’re my best fucking friend. Like, in the entire fucking world. You know that, right?” 

“And you’re mine,” Mikey says, and he didn’t know he was capable of sounding this earnest. “I’m pretty sure I sang an entire fucking song about it.” 

“I know,” Nate says. “And that’s kind of why, uh, this–” he gestures between them “–I can’t do this anymore.” 

Mikey’s known what it’s like to feel some really shitty feelings, but nothing can compare to this– the sheer fucking emptiness he feels, like everything inside of him crumbled to dust and fell heavily to the ground, like a part of him is just fucking  _ gone _ . 

“What?” Mikey says, and his voice kind of cracks, and he’s too fucking sad to even be embarrassed about it. 

“I’m sorry, I just– it’s so much,” Nate says, and he’s looking away from Mikey, probably so he doesn’t have to see Mikey’s heart as he crushes it into a million little pieces. “I just– I feel too  _ much.  _ Like, I’ve had fucking nightmares about you dating people. I almost threw up when I thought you and Stromer– just, I can’t keep not letting myself move the fuck on.” 

“You don’t–” Mikey says. “I don’t want that.” He’s barely processing the words Nate is saying, but it feels like Nate is wrong, is so fucking wrong, and Mikey’s not gonna let him fuck shit up because he thinks– 

“You don’t want me,” Nate says. “Or, like, not in the way I want you.”

“What the fuck,” Mikey says. “Nate, what are you saying?” He’s shaking, and Nate’s still not fucking looking at him, and Mikey wants to grab him, but it feels fragile, all of a sudden, and he’s going to do this right. 

“You know what I’m saying,” Nate says. 

“No,” Mikey says. “I don’t, I– can you tell me? Please?”

Nate finally turns around, and Mikey can see that there are tears in his eyes, and brings a hand up on instinct to wipe them away. 

“You’re– I  _ want  _ this. I want  _ you,  _ like– not in, like, a best friends way, or a hashtag superbuddies way, but in a– you know,  _ that _ kind of way.”

It’s not as clear as Mikey wants it, but words are so fucking hard, and he really doesn’t want to sing about this, and his hand is still on Nate’s face. 

He leans in a little. 

“You want me,” he says, looking directly in Nate’s eyes, and Nate nods. 

A smile spreads across Mikey’s face, and he thinks he might cry, too. “Nate,” he says. “I–” 

“You?” Nate asks, and he leans in a little, too, smiling as Mikey nods. 

“Fuck,” Mikey says, because it suddenly feels like this is long overdue. 

He grabs Nate’s shirt and pulls him in, and Nate kind of lands on top of him as their mouths meet, and it’s the best fucking kiss of Mikey’s entire life, because holy shit, Nate wants this too. 

“You–” Nate says, breathless between kisses, “you don’t even fucking know, I’ve wanted–” 

“No,  _ you  _ don’t– for fuckin’  _ ever, _ ” Mikey says.

“Fucking– I didn’t want anyone else to touch you–”

“Not a concern,” Mikey says. “Fuck, I’m yours, man.” 

“You are,” Nate says, and there’s something in his eye that makes Mikey shiver. He remembers what Mitch and Dylan were saying about Nate being territorial, and he’s starting to think that they maybe weren’t so off-base. 

“We should go to my bedroom,” Mikey says. 

They don’t race upstairs, but Mikey gets there first, so he says, “I won.” 

“Congrats,” Nate says. “Guess you get a reward for that.” 

“Since when are you so fucking smooth,” Mikey says, but Nate doesn’t answer, just kisses him some more. 

* * *

“You’re not getting out of this, by the way,” Mikey says later, as they’re cuddling. “We’re, like, doing this. Boyfriends. Dating. Romance. All of it.”

“No shit,” Nate says. 

Mikey smiles. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

There’s some music in the distance, but when Mikey and Nate sing along, it’s not really lyrics, just some humming, a few oohs and aahs, and a final “I love you.” It’s not their song, but it might be Mikey’s favorite one.

“I think that was the finale,” Nate says. 

“Yeah,” Mikey says. 

“Kinda sad we didn’t get a duet,” Nate says. 

“It’s alright,” Mikey says. “Not really our style.” 

“That’s true,” Nate says. “Just so you know, I’m gonna say the L-word like, way too soon.” 

“What word?” Mikey says, giving Nate a teasing grin. “Lust? Laughter? Lesbian?” 

“Fuck off, you know the word,” Nate says, turning red.

“Yeah,” Mikey says, and then, “I will too, so.” 

“Yeah?” Nate says. 

“Yep,” Mikey says.

“This is gonna be good,” Nate says, running a hand through Mikey’s hair. 

Mikey makes a contented noise, then leans on Nate’s chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing. 

It’s probably the best thing Mikey’s ever heard. 

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find any common triggers in this story, but if there is anything you feel should be tagged, please let me know!
> 
> ###  Song List: 
>
>> **Act I:**  
>  "I've Said It All Before" -Dylan  
> "Never Drift Apart" -Connor  
> "Raccoon Boy" -Mitch  
> "#Superbuddies" -Mikey, Nate  
> "Ball Hockey Capital of Mississauga" -Mitch, Auston  
> "Raccoon Boy (Reprise)" -Mitch  
> "The Customer Is Never Right" -Chorus  
> "Need You On My Wing" -Mikey  
> "Oh Shit (He's Coming)" -Dylan  
> "How Do Americans Do It?" -Mitch, Auston  
> "Thought We Were Boys" -Mikey, Dylan
>> 
>> **Act II:**  
>  "Chronic Forgiveness" -Connor, Auston, Mitch  
> "Oh Shit (Reprise)/Sing It From Center Ice" -Mitch, Dylan, Connor, Auston  
> "Don’t Want To Wake You" -Nate  
> "Yo What Ev" -Mikey  
> "Don’t Want To Wake You (Reprise)" -Mikey  
> "Never Drift Apart (Reprise)/Finale" -Ensemble  
> 
> 
>   
> Okay there is so much I can say about these songs, but here's the important stuff: Mikey's first song, which is short, is secretly a duet with Nater, but they're in different places so Mikey doesn't know that. So they do get a duet! When Mikey hums a melody he doesn't know, it's the theme from the song Nater was singing while Mikey was asleep. The McDonald's employees' song is something between "My Coffee Break" from How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying and "The Mustard" from "Once More, With Feeling," the musical episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And perhaps most importantly, ["Yo What Ev"](https://www.instagram.com/p/BO60pKHjVr3/?taken-by=mikeymcleod9) is the name of the [Kevin Bacon in a warehouse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j8XGmZ8HDIU)-style dance number.
> 
> Other things:  
> -This pulls pretty heavily from the "Once More, With Feeling" premise, so, like, self-aware musical theater behavior, and the songs make them confront things they would otherwise ignore. The similarities end there, though.  
> -I've come to the conclusion that if this musical were real, the music would have been written by Jason Robert Brown, to give you a sense of the way it would sound. I have my own personal opinions about him as a composer, but those have no place in fanfiction about hockey players.  
> -This takes place at some ambiguous point at the beginning of summer 2017 (pre dev camps, post Mem cup)  
> -If you think Nate is ever going to get out of being made fun of for being jealous when he thought Dylan and Mikey were a thing, you're sorely mistaken.  
> -[Just your daily reminder that Dylan Strome is a self-described "Adele guy"](https://youtu.be/ePe5216CYJY?t=26s)  
> -I think I took some subconscious inspiration from [these tweets](https://twitter.com/ngoziu/status/534052070639562752?lang=en) from Ngozi about "Check Please! The Musical!" Also, someone mentioned [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ChAsReByGM) to me, because someone actually wrote the songs from those tweets (I can't believe I hadn't learned of this before) and it's a pretty good reference point for "Need You On My Wing," even though I hadn't heard it until after posting this.  
> -Seriously, ask me questions about these songs, or this 'verse in general. This was incredibly fun to write and I could probably talk about it forever. 
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr!](https://lottswrites.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] five, six, seven, eight by LottieAnna](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12433659) by [Hellspot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hellspot/pseuds/Hellspot)
  * [The 5, 6, 7, 8 Songbook](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14108022) by [Stromesquad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stromesquad/pseuds/Stromesquad)
  * [And If You Take My Hand](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231721) by [shmorgas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shmorgas/pseuds/shmorgas)




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